


Sparkle

by hellostarlight20



Series: Shall We Dance [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romace, perfect together, slight telepathy, the Doctor and angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6814057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellostarlight20/pseuds/hellostarlight20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even with Jack on the TARDIS, the Doctor hasn't stopped wanting to take Rose places she can dress up. And if he needs to wear a tux because she seems to like him in one, so be it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparkle

The Doctor stared at the flashing symbols of his language as the TARDIS scrolled through his options. They’d been traveling with Jack for a while now, letting the flirty captain into their dynamic. The Doctor alternately pushed Rose to include him and tugged her away, just the two of them.

It might be possible—might—just maybe, that he was jealous. Just a tad. Not much. But he was used to traveling with Rose. Alone. The two of them. Just them exploring and laughing, holding hands and sharing those quiet moments.

The Doctor enjoyed those quiet moments the most, even when Jack tagged along.

Today he wanted to bring Rose—and Jack he supposed—to another concert. She enjoyed the festival on Heliona and the orchestra on Menilos. Another chance for her to enjoy the culture the universe offered.

Another chance for her to dress up.

She loved dressing up and he loved indulging her. Rose always looked amazing no matter what she wore. In fancy dresses she looked exquisite. The way the bodice hugged her and the skirt flared around her frankly amazing legs.

He cleared his throat. No use thinking that. Even if Rose didn’t exactly hide her feelings for him. Desire. Should’ve thought desire there. Even if Rose didn’t hide her _desire_ for him. The Doctor knew she wanted him; he smelled it on her skin and all but tasted it in the air.

But deeper?

He looked at his hands, large, work-worn _alien_ hands. Alien hands with TARDIS grease under his nails and calluses on his fingers and palms. With the blood of billions on his _alien_ hands. Annoyed, he ran those same hands over his head, the shorn hair. His large nose and ears.

Alien.

Why would she want him? Why would she care for him? Why would anyone?

The Doctor looked at his hands again. Sometimes, in those soft, quiet moments when Rose leaned against him and looked at him as if he was her entire world, he thought she cared deeply for him. Not only desired him but cared…

When she sighed and held his hand tighter. When he let his telepathic barriers slip, just a fraction, the Doctor thought maybe—

He closed his eyes. It was all too easy to feel her hand in his, her small Human fingers fitting perfectly with his longer, harder, colder Time Lord ones. When they held hands, he thought he felt more from her. More than arousal and desire. More than happiness and exploring new skies and new cultures.

He felt Rose. The compassionate, jealous, curious, simply wonderful woman who made him feel again. Who made him see the universe, and all its inherent beauty, again. Who reminded him why he traveled—not run, though he always had done so.

Explored. Learned. Helped and hoped and met amazing people.

The Doctor ran a hand over his face, along his jaw. What did she see in him? The madman with the blue box who showed her amazing sights? Or someone more?

“Cut yourself?” Jack asked as he ambled into the console.

“What?” The Doctor dropped his hands and frowned.

“You’re not insulting my species, so I suppose not,” Jack continued as if he made any sort of sense. Only to Jack, the Doctor supposed.

The Doctor frowned again and crossed his arms over his chest. He gave Jack his best withering look. “What are you gibbering on about?”

Jack merely grinned. “Where’s Rose?”

“You make even less sense than normal,” the Doctor grumbled. “Getting ready still.”

Jack wiggled his eyebrows and flashed a smile. “Ohh, is she?”

The Doctor narrowed his eyes; Jack laughed and held up his hands.

“You know I still don’t understand why you’re not together.”

He heard this statement, or variations on a theme, from Jack since the other came onboard. Sighing, the Doctor returned to his list. Prestez? No, too cold. Not enough chances to see her in whatever dress she decided on.

Was that selfish? That was selfish. He didn’t much care.

Braxiq? Maybe. They had that fantastic gala every year and he knew Rose would love it. And art, their translucent art was unrivaled in the galaxy. She’d love that, especially since she took up sketching again.

“—life forms he’s cleverer than.”

Scowling, the Doctor looked up. What was Jack flapping his lips over now? He mentally rewound the conversation and realized it was from when they first met Jack. Rose said he liked to insult species. _“He cuts himself shaving, he does half an hour on life forms he’s cleverer than.”_

“What is your point?” the Doctor demanded.

Braxiq sounded perfect. He’d show Rose the planet later and gauge her reaction. Maybe agree to wear his tux again. Not that the Doctor ever thought he’d wear a tux again or get so much usage out of it. But Rose’s appreciation was well worth it.

“—you and Rose were together.”

He sighed again. And once more rewound Jack’s words. Oh. As if Rose couldn’t have been in his bathroom for purely platonic reasons while he shaved. Which she had been.

Which was unfortunate.

The man really needed to stop talking. But then the Doctor suspected that was how Jack coped—a constant barrage of innuendo filled conversation so no one looked beneath the surface. Worked with him—the more he spoke about anything and everything the less people really looked at him.

Except Rose. Rose did…

“See what happens when you assume.”

Jack snickered. “Hard not to, given the way you two act around each other.”

“Who acts around whom?” Rose asked as she entered the console. She looked bright eyed and happy and sent him a smile as she headed directly for the chair, her normal position.

“Nothing,” he snapped.

Rose frowned, and he cleared his throat and held out his hand. The frown smoothed out but her eyes retained a slight hint of—curiosity or concern or apprehension. But Rose eagerly stood and took his hand.

The happiness that pulsed over their simple touch warmed his hearts. And maybe more, just a slight bit more. More than her happiness, though he saw that clear enough in her smile, her sparkling eyes.

He thought he actually felt it, that curiosity or concern or apprehension. The faint unease of Rose’s worry. _For him._ But he probably read too much into their touch. Wanted to read too much into it. Wanted to feel her emotions so badly he thought he really did.

Pushing all that aside, he tugged her to the console and grinned down at her. Rose’s smile blossomed across her face and lighted her eyes. Warmed his heart. Spread from her fingers to his and warmed his very soul, the cold, blackened husk of it.

One-handed, the Doctor tapped a few keys on the controls and waited until Gallifreyan changed to English. Her hand tightened around his and once more the Doctor swore (or hoped or wished) he felt her excitement.

And concern. For him.

“I was thinking,” he began.

“Hmm,” she hummed. And looked up at him with her tongue teasing the corner of her mouth.

He lost his train of thought.

“Dangerous, that,” she joked.

“Hmph.”

But her smile never wavered and she never removed her hand. Rose’s head leaned against his arm and she pointedly looked back at the screen.

“Braxiq,” he said gruffly. The Doctor subtly cleared his throat. “There’s an annual gala there you might like. They have this translucent art I think you’ll love.”

Her eyes lit up and he knew he felt her sheer joy at the prospect. Knew it. Maybe not through touch telepathy, maybe only because of how she looked at him or the sharp inhalation of breath or the way her smile widened and her brandy-colored eyes sparkled. But he knew.

“Fancy dress?” she asked.

Was her voice lower than normal? He cleared his throat.

“It is a gala, Rose,” he said but couldn’t quite manage to pull off the condescending tone.

Her fingers squeezed his and her other hand came around to cup his between her soft, warmer ones. There. Right there. The spark. It almost physically arced between them, bright and golden and fire burning across his nerves to bury deep in his brain. It made her glow.

His first instinct was to release her hand, step back and far away from the woman who made him _feel_ who made emotions he hadn’t realized he suppressed spark startlingly back to life. The Doctor pulled her just that much closer.

Because she did make him feel. She made him reckless and mad and utterly quiet and at a deeper peace than he ever knew. Not since…the middle of his fourth life? Maybe? He didn’t even know, not any longer.

Peace remained elusive. So much death and needless destruction and avarice.

“Can we go now?” she asked, voice still low and quiet.

“If you like.”

“I’ve never been to Braxiq.”

The Doctor jerked at the intrusion and Rose startled, though her hand remained in his. He blinked up at Jack who stood there with a knowing smirk and arms crossed over his jumper.

“We can all go… _together_ ,” Jack said and very deliberately emphasized together.

“Course!” Rose said. She still didn’t move away and the Doctor’s hearts beat harder.

Slowly, as if she were as reluctant as he, her hand slipped from his and she stepped back. But then her smile lighted her face again and the Doctor realized how wrong he’d been. Rose didn’t glow.

She sparkled. With joy and happiness and (love but he daren’t even think it let alone voice it) _affection_.

“Let me change.” She grabbed his hand again. And again the tie between them glowed with a golden warmth. It made her eyes sparkle all the more. Dance with contentment and (love) affection.

And then Rose disappeared down the corridor and he was once more left alone with Jack.

“You two do this often?”

“Travel?” The Doctor said, deliberately misreading the innuendo. “It’s the whole purpose,” he added in his best patronizing tone.

“Play dress up and go to art openings,” Jack said with an even wider smile.

The Doctor did not growl nor did he try (though he thought it) to wipe the grin off Jack’s face. Instead he shrugged as negligently as possible. “Rose likes art. She’s very good at it, too.”

“Hmm,” Jack hummed noncommittally. “I’m sure that’s the reason.”

He huffed. “Coming or not? You can’t go like that. Even on Braxiq you’ll be kicked out of the gala.”

Jack held up his hands. “Don’t blame me if she can’t resist me in a tux.”

He did growl then. It really was unavoidable.

Jack merely grinned wider and sauntered down the hall. The Doctor sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked up at the Time Rotor and frowned. But his beloved ship merely continued on with Her normal soothing hum.

“I’m not completely imagining it,” he whispered “Am I? It’s not out of desperation, is it?”

The TARDIS hummed out a sigh but whether that was in exasperation or agreement, he wasn’t entirely certain. They shared a bond, to be sure, yet even after all this time—everything they’d seen and shared and done together—the Doctor still didn’t know what She thought.

He frowned up at the Rotor again. Turning sharply on his boot, he strode from the console to his room. He needed to change. He promised Rose, after all. Even though the tux felt unnatural—tight and hot and harsh against his skin—not at all like it did in his last life, the Doctor suffered through it.

Because it made Rose smile.

And when she finally opened the door to her room and stepped into the hallway, his breath caught. Rose may smile at him in a tux, but the sight of her in a dress that flirted around her muscular calves and hugged her breasts made him forget how to move-breathe-think.

“You look beautiful,” he managed. And cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’ll pass just fine at the gala.”

Rose rolled her eyes and took his hand. It had become their ritual when she walked from her rooms into the console and the grating there. The Doctor thought she ought to put her shoes on _after_ traversing the grating but the image of her in the midnight blue dress bent over as she strapped on her heels made both his hearts stop.

“—materials are they made from?”

What? The Doctor blinked down at her and tried desperately to pick up the thread of her conversation. But her fingers squeezed around his and her smile lighted her entire face and all he really wanted was to lean down and—

“Indigenous materials,” he said and hoped he had the right conversation.

And his voice wasn’t too high. And Rose didn’t pick up on his wayward thoughts. She hadn’t yet, but then she seemed to pick up on a lot of things he wouldn’t have expected she do.

The Doctor swore he felt her faint telepathic presence in his mind on their trip to Menilos. Well, if he was being honest with himself—which he tried never to do—he felt her faintest telepathic touch for a while now. Or maybe it was her very presence that soothed his battered soul.

“The clay found on Braxiq’s northern hemisphere is ideal for this sort of thing,” he tried again.

But then Rose stepped carefully onto the grating, leaned her body into his and how in all the multiverse was he supposed to think?

“They have mosaics, of course,” he managed. “Like stained glass of Earth. But the material they use for their free-standing art is lighter. It’s almost filament-like and definitely not poisonous.”

They stepped outside the TARDIS doors and Jack whistled. The Doctor grudgingly admitted the other man looked decent in a tux. Grudgingly.

“Doc, I had no idea how.” Jack eyed him up and down rather salaciously.

“Looking good, Jack,” Rose laughed.

The Doctor huffed. His hearts may have skipped and possibly might have sunk, but he huffed and eyed Rose. “And what am I?”

Her smile softened and her fingers squeezed his. “You look very handsome, Doctor,” she said quietly.

Rose untangled their hands and reached up, straightening his tie. Just as she had each time they dressed up, each time he forced himself to wear this tux—for her. Her eyes watched him and her voice barely carried to his ears and her fingers drifted down his arms to squeeze his and that was when the Doctor knew.

It didn’t matter what she told Jack or what he told himself. He was irrevocably in love with Rose Tyler.

 ********  
Which he astoundingly proved when, after walking through the filament materials on display and promising Rose they could purchase some for her renewed interest in art, the Doctor reverted to character and ran.

Cruel, unforgiving words.

Sitting on his bed in a dark room, shoeless, shirtless, and dressed only in his tuxedo trousers he held his head in his hands and wondered what the hell happened. One minute Rose was smiling up at him, hand in his, all happiness and smiles. The next—

Well, the next there was that kiss.

That wonderful, kiss he lost himself in. Where Rose wrapped her arms around his shoulders and cupped the back of his head. Where her lips pressed to his, warm and so human. Where Rose enveloped him so completely he forgot himself.

Being the calm, mature Time Lord he was, the Doctor panicked. He jerked back. Tore her hands from his skin, those warm Human hands that sent electricity through him, a spark of warmth and that connection he craved.

And ran from. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Rose?” he’d demanded in a harsh, angry voice that sounded less panicked in his memory than furious at her.

He hurt her feelings. Worse than that. He hurt her so terribly. There were tears in her eyes when she looked at him. Tears marring her beautiful brandy-colored eyes. And pain.

Shocked hurt that translated so clearly over whatever telepathic connection they had or he thought they shared. Even without her touch, he knew. Oh, he knew. And cursed himself. The Doctor tried to tighten his fingers around hers as he scrambled for words. Apologies. Anything.

Rose pulled her hand away. Stepped back. Turned from him. And left.

Head held high, back straight, dress still swishing around her legs, she left the gala and didn’t once look at him. The Doctor didn’t blame her. Stunned at his own—his _callousness_ , the fear that made him so-so… _mean_.

In a fog of regret and fear and recriminations, he bought the materials he promised her.

When he returned to the ship, the TARDIS assured him Rose returned as well. A quick look at the internal cameras showed her walking, head still held high, to her bedroom. 

The TARDIS hum gentled, but it did nothing to soothe the Doctor. His hearts hurt, ached for his own stupidity and fears and how he wounded Rose. For the—the intense need to hold her again. Feel her skin against his and know all was right between them. To see her smile up at him again. To feel her lips pressed to his again.

“Damn old fool.”

The Doctor sat like that all night. The next day, Rose walked coolly into the console and he prepared to tell her how sorry he was.

“Where to next, Doc?” Jack asked from behind her.

Damn if the Doctor was going to say anything about last night in front of Jack Harkenss. In front of anyone other than Rose.

“Cardiff,” he said curtly. “TARDIS needs to refuel.”

Rose didn’t meet his gaze but nodded and managed a smile. “I’m going to call Mickey. Have him meet up with us.” She stopped on her way out of the room and glanced at him.

Just long enough for him to see the slight puffiness of her eyes and the caution in them. His hearts tumbled over each other. Her sparkle had disappeared. And that was his fault. He’d done that to her. Hurt her.

“Rose.”

But she smiled, a wide grin that did not reach her gaze. “What day will we be there?”

“May the nineteenth.” He managed to sound normal and would’ve given himself props, except Rose flinched.

She nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

The Doctor watched her disappear around the corner. He should run after her. He should ignore Jack and find his Rose and—apologize, confess his own stupidity and fears. Beg her forgiveness. Instead he watched her walk away from him.

He was an even bigger fool than he always thought.


End file.
